A Long Way To Go

In just a short month I'm going to participate in the Barr Trail Mountain Race in Manitou Springs, CO., so I wanted to spend Father's Day weekend running something similar. When it comes down to it though, running is running, and as long as I've put in the miles and strengthened my legs and core, any 12 mile race should be doable. Yeah. Or so I thought until I started up the mountain in Santa Fe, NM.

The plan was to do "A Long, Strenuous Hike With Great Views" up and around Atalaya Peak, a 9.5 mile route that's part of the Dale Ball Trail system. Thankfully the altitude didn't seem to affect me much, as my resting heart rate of 57 was unchanged (if not slightly lower) the morning of my run. The weather was incredible and I was well rested. So with no reservations, I started out at my normal pace and looked forward to an enjoyable morning. But very early on, I began to question that simple-minded strategy. Because "uhh, I'm not even a half mile in and this is already getting pretty steep. And it's not flattening out."

Oh Toto. I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

The starting elevation was around 7300 ft above sea level which is certainly higher than the rim of PD Canyon (3500 ft), but it's not that significant. After one mile though, I was at over 7600 ft, and I'm used to seeing no more than a 100 ft climb over the course of a mile at home. At two miles, the elevation was over 8200 ft. And after three, the top of Atalaya peak, it was just shy of 9100 ft. Running for no more than 30 seconds felt like a quarter mile sprint. Ugh.

What an idiot I turned out to be. A naive, inexperienced idiot. There's just no running that kind of climb. Not right now anyway. Not in my current physical condition. All this time I thought the "walk the steep uphills" rule applied to the tiny sections of PDC that aren't completely flat. Oh, Jason. Those aren't uphills. Those are speed bumps compared to what you're going to see in Colorado, so you better learn to attack the small stuff.

Well hard lesson learned. I wore myself out on Atalaya, deciding to just head back down and call it a day. Still, I'm really, really thankful for the experience I gained from a mere six miles. Going up hundreds of feet per mile is all about being smart and saving your juice for the parts that don't instantly jack your heart rate up to 160+ BPM. Patience, patience, patience. (Something I need to learn and not just in running.) And as difficult as the climb to the top was, it was equally fun hauling ass on the way down, slowing down only to prevent a nasty tumble or glorious dive off the mountain.

So now I know what it's going to take to complete the Barr Trail race, staying under the allowed time limit and getting my shirt and keychain. Now I know what to expect physically and mentally, and how to better pace myself on both aspects. Now I know that I'm definitely not ready. But I will be.

The Lighthouse

"Did you go by the Lighthouse?"

I get that question a lot when I mention that I like to go to Palo Duro Canyon, but I had no idea why. I knew that in my two past races that I supposedly ran near it, but I honestly had no idea how popular of a trail and landmark the Lighthouse was, or what it even looked like, until recently. And it's not really the frequency of that question that convinced me but rather the traffic. Seriously, after only two times I've already lost count of the people I see on this trail. Dodging all kinds of bikers and hikers (but no runners so far) has become a new technical aspect to deal with, but it's all good because it's a really, really beautiful and relaxing run.

The trail itself isn't much different than any other flat, winding trail out there, so it's a great way to loosen up during that first mile or two of a workout. Just shy of two miles though, you come to a decision: keep going or switch off to one of the more difficult parts of the PDC Trail Race 12.5 mi loop. (Miles 3-6 on this run.) I'd originally set out with the plan to run the latter, but decided about half a mile in to take the opportunity to see what all the fuss was about. The Lighthouse! "Did you go by the Lighthouse?" OH OH LIGHTHOUSE! OK, fine. Fine! Let's do it for frak sake.

After about 2.8 miles I'm guessing, I came to what looked like a dead-end. And a bike rack. Huh? What's that for? Ahhh! Look closer, Jas. The trail becomes a path through some trees and rocks. And it goes up. WAY up. Like "lean way forward and use your hands to grab onto crap so you don't slip and go backwards" up. I'm now climbing, not running, yet I'm still in running mode, so my heart rate is going through the roof and I'm gasping for air while I scramble up the path like a crippled mountain goat. But it's awesome and I'm having a blast going somewhere new. After a few minutes more of nervous, clumsy climbing, I get to the top and take a 10-minute break, using the time to take some customary pictures.

So now I know why it's so popular. And why I'll be going this way a lot in the future.

The Beast

I made a reference to the Beast in an earlier post, and after the day I had yesterday, I figure now is a good time to go into a little more detail about what it is.

So Saturday I had a pretty good day on the trail. It was only a 5 mile filler run, but my energy level was high and I felt strong. In control. It felt as if I was finally hitting my groove, and that trail running was becoming as natural as road running. It was also the end of almost 40 miles, my highest weekly total so far (which I'm really trying to increase at a safe and reasonable pace), and I knew going out there that the only expectation was to enjoy myself. Anyway, it was a great experience. Maybe it was because I had taken a day off, or I had eaten or slept well. I wish I knew because Sunday was the absolute worst and not at all like the shorter run the day before. No, on this run I got to entertain the Beast almost the entire way.

Let me say now that the run was designed to be a long one. The plan was to spend 3 hours on my feet and start getting used to the 6+ hours that would be required to finish a 50K. I certainly didn't expect to run the entire time, but I did want to keep the pace steady and the walks relatively short. What happened though was that I felt exhausted from the start, physically and mentally, and nothing I was doing was making it any better. Pre-workout nutrition? Check (cinnamon-raisin bagel). Hydration? Check (72 oz water). Workout calories? Check (Honey Stinger waffles and Espresso Love GU). I was smart with my pace. I was strategic with the hills. I took my salt tablets. And 4 miles in, I was ready to quit.

The Beast, a mental manifestation that represents itself by telling you how stupid and inadequate you are, showed up out of nowhere and wouldn't go away. So for 11 more miles, I questioned the feasibility of training for a race that was only 4 months away and more than twice the distance I'd ever run in my entire life. I wasn't going to be in shape. I wasn't going to be physically and mentally and spiritually tough enough for 31 miles if I couldn't even handle a half dozen without stopping. 4 months! Are you freaking kidding me? And I'll be 41 years old by then. There's just no way. This is absolutely stupid. The heat is smothering. My left ear just stopped up for some unknown reason. My nose and eyes are sore and raw from wiping them with my shirt. My left, non-injured ankle is hurting and forcing a slight limp out of me. And what is up with these giant mutant flies that are buzzing around my head and chasing me literally almost every step of the way? You're right, Beast. I should stick to the half marathons and consider myself lucky to finish those.

Well I finished my "run" in a little over three hours and wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't thirsty. I just wanted to lay down and wait for the hammered dog shit feeling to go away. I was beat. I challenged the Beast to a minor showdown and got my butt handed to me. My pride and body and will to persevere had left me for lands unknown, leaving me a stinky, salty, exhausted mess. Oh what a difference a day makes. Learning time!

What lesson? I'm still alive. The circling birds, and bat-like flies, and hundreds of stupid lizards of Palo Duro Canyon that love to scare the piss out me by rustling the trail brush every 100 ft will have to find some other paunchy white boy to feast upon this week. The experience didn't kill me, but rather showed me that even the worst times are beneficial. No, the bad times are the most beneficial. I mean, what do we learn from the easy things? Really learn. Sayings like "No pain, no gain" and "That which does not kill us makes us stronger" don't come out of nowhere, right? Genuine, forward progress is made through suffering and fatigue and hurt and sweat and horse flies, and the Beast is nothing more than a bullshit artist. (Ah ha! Now we know where the flies came from.)

So bring on the next run. Pain subsides and fades like all other less-than-enjoyable memories, and the pleasure that comes from surviving always trumps it in the end anyway. My legs and lungs and mind are stronger than they were before Sunday's run and the next run will prove that.

Oh and pictures!

Slow or Fast?

I had this sticker made for my truck last year. Clever! I wish the idea had been mine but it wasn't.

But yeah, LSDs and speed days. I decided to put both into my ultra program since I really have two goals this summer: finish the 50K in October and run a sub-20:00 5K in September. (Actually I have a third goal - to run a marathon, or at least the distance of one, before my 41st birthday in September - but I figure that should be pretty doable after ultra training for 3 months.) Opposite ends of the spectrum of races for sure, but the latter goal is much older and I'm also not quite ready to give up my "glory days" ability to fast.

After reading a lot of stuff on ultra and trail running though, there appears to be a divide on the necessity of speed workouts. Some will say it's more important to put miles in the book since your goal during an ultra is to simply not fall over dead mid-stride, while others say that things like intervals and tempo runs will boost your lactate threshold, subsequently making you stronger overall. Well I certainly don't have enough experience yet to vouch for either school of thought, but I've always been of the opinion that there's never one simple way of getting better. Instead, we should keep the body guessing. Balance and variety are good for us, and recruiting all muscle types will have a better pay off in the end. And really, come on. Going fast is fun!

So in my plan I almost always run long on Sunday morning and do some sort of speed workout on either Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. As for what kinds of speed workouts, I'll be doing little more than alternating fartleks, intervals, and a few local 8-10K races. Nothing all out on the races of course, but enough to count them as tempo runs. I just hope that they get me faster because I'm going to lose my freaking mind if I don't get my 5K PR.

Long runs so far are going well, and I'm finally running them at a "conversational pace" that's a tad slower than I used to go. Two runs at PD Canyon that were ~8.5 mi each and a 15.2 mi run through Medi Park this past Sunday that served as a distance PR. Surprisingly too I wasn't that sore afterwards which tells me that the trail running is indeed making me a much stronger runner than I was last year. If I'd tried to run that far last fall, I'd have been hobbling around afterwards for a week. Yet this time I took Monday off and then ran a pretty good pace on the trails this morning. It wasn't overly hot, I didn't tweak my ankle once, and one of the best things of all, I don't have any blisters (knock on wood) because of some sweet socks that were recommended to me. (That and I've finally started some decent man callouses that I've resisted the urge to peel off.) Never underestimate the importance of good socks, folks.

As always, here's a picture taken at the canyon this morning: